


this is not your fairytale ending

by unfinishedidea



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfinishedidea/pseuds/unfinishedidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stella had left, it had felt like the end of everything—this was it, last stop, bottom floor, only place Ray could go now was down to the shadowy and lonely pits of hell, and, well, that was actually looking kinda inviting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is not your fairytale ending

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look what I pulled out of the time machine! I originally posted this as a WIP in February 2005 and have added various bits to it in the intervening years. I finally dusted it off last week and cleaned it up. It completely changes tone at least twice throughout the story (How to Write an Inconsistent Fanfic in 2000 Words, by Zira), but whatever. I wash my hands of it. I need to concentrate on writing fics for fandoms that I'm actually currently in. Uploaded here for posterity?

When Stella had left, it had felt like the end of everything—this was it, last stop, bottom floor, only place Ray could go now was down to the shadowy and lonely pits of hell, and, well, that was actually looking kinda inviting.

There went his life. There went the two bedroom apartment with its shitty bathroom and the faucet that drove Stella up the wall because it wouldn't stop dripping and the tiny closet that was maybe a kitchen in its dreams. But it had a decent-sized living room and a reasonable rent rate, and it wasn't much but it was _perfect_.

There went all the time and energy and effort he put in to _please god make this work_ , if there was ever just one thing—just _one fucking thing_ —please god that it be this.

Ha.

That sound right there? That's the sound of his life going down the drain. Luck of the draw, and he's totally fucked this time. _Sorry, pal. I really feel for you though._

* * *

There was a part of Ray that had died the day that Stella had quietly handed him back the ring (and that wasn't supposed to be how they ended, he thought it'd be more—something. More crying or screaming or broken dishes, but it was just Stella, looking more tired and older than he'd ever seen her). If he really wanted to think about it (which he did not), it had died long before then, and not when he'd signed away what he thought would be until-death-do-us-part, signed away sharing a bed (sleeping on the couch) and lazy Sunday sex ("Ray, I'm too tired") and having someone to talk to at the dinner table (not that they ever even ate in the same room anymore) in the black ink that spelled D-I-V-O-R-C-E, you fucking loser.

He wasn't going to go through that again. Not if he could help it.

* * *

See, Ray had this problem of wanting people completely out of his league. To this day, he still didn't know how in the world he got Stella, despite the whole thing with the bank.

So the smart thing to do would've been to, you know, try for people who he could actually get. The smart thing would've been to stop getting pissy at Frannie or the Ice Queen and wanting to tell them to back the fuck off because Fraser was his. See, you couldn't do that. People didn't belong to you, especially someone like Fraser.

Somewhere along the line, though, Ray's brain had taken a backseat and his dick had gotten a hold of the situation. Metaphorically speaking.

* * *

It wasn't so bad at first. Like maybe a dull throbbing in the back of his head, and hey, he could handle that.

But then it started to be like those sudden lightning headaches. He'd be looking over a case file or reaching for his cup of coffee, and there'd be Fraser's hand or shoulder or whatever, and then BOOM. His fingers wouldn't listen to him and he couldn't stop touching Fraser, which would've been bad enough on its lonesome, but Fraser didn't get it, Fraser didn't know that the things that Ray was thinking were things that you weren't supposed to think about your partner.

Fraser would just look at him and give him that "why, Ray, I am absolutely humdiddilydum delighted and inordinately pleased" smile that he always gave Ray, and it gave him funny feelings in his stomach. So then Ray had to start preemptively occupying his hands with other stuff—pencils, cups, paperwork—anything. Stopped asking Fraser to come over after work or on the weekends, started trying to pay attention to people that would actually give him a second glace, people who he might actually be able to hack it out with (though he didn't really mind when he _didn't_ hack it out with them, but he was just going to _shut up now_ , thank you kindly.) And, well, whaddya know, it worked.

Barely.

But it worked.

And if now Ray's only companions in his dingy apartment were a chipped glass of room temperature scotch and the dull droning of the TV, that was okay. And if he jerked off with a sick kind of desperation, well, that was okay, too. It was better than the alternative.

* * *

Just when Ray thought that maybe he'd gotten the hang of it, maybe things would settle down—the stupid Russian gas appeared. And with the Russian gas came Vecchio and Muldoon and a whole bag of shit he just did not want to deal with. His two dimensional, black-and-white life blazed into a 3-D, surround-sound, full-color-spectrum whirl of chaos. There's his life again, flushed down the toilet. Except, get this, _it wasn't even his own life this time_. And then there was Vecchio getting shot and the stupid bush plane and the stolen Russian sub, and here comes Canada, right smack in the middle of it all.

He thought that he might have gotten a break then. If that was okay with the people Upstairs. He was god knows how many miles away from anything that even remotely looked like home, his entire life had been turned inside out or counterclockwise or 360° or whatever, and it would be nice to just get a little break. Not too much to ask, was it?

He sometimes thought that God sat on his puffy little white cloud, pointed randomly at people (him), and said, "I choose YOU—to star in my hilarious sitcom." Except it tended to be funny-oh-fucking-fuck-my-life instead of funny-haha. Probably thought it was _ironic_.

And, yeah, this was one of those times.

Because somewhere along the way, he had somehow signed up for going on an adventure. With Fraser. When he was, apparently, hypothermical.

Ray was not prepared for this shit. School had not prepared him for this shit. He had one problem. One problem: running his goddamn mouth when he should have kept it shut. Did all that algebra help? No. World hist—no. Biol—no. This is a real life example which is applicable to everyday situations if and only if you ever actually get a real fucking _job_.

He needed only one class: When And How To Keep Your Stupid Mouth Shut 101.

And now he was stuck, once again for the studio audience, on a goddamn adventure in the _North freaking Pole_. With Fraser. With Fraser being key.

Fuck.

* * *

Cut to the second act, and—it was actually going okay. Ray had yet to fuck up royally (not that he hadn't fucked up yet, because he had, but it hadn't been anything too life-threatening).

And then one day, it just happened. He couldn't help it. Fraser looked at the sky—grey, with spots of more grey, and for some variety, another splotch of grey—and _hmmed_ and said, "We should start setting up camp, Ray, it looks like there's quite a storm brewing." And then Ray turned, and it just slipped out by accident: "Fraser—" like he did every other time he was trying to get Fraser's attention, except this was _different_. Fraser looked at him, eyebrows raised, and asked, "Yes?"

Ray closed his eyes then, because this was it, this was _it_ , shit, he was really going to say it—

"Ray? Is everything all right?"

"I—Fraser, uh, I—"

And then stupid fucking Diefenbaker started barking his head off and the moment was gone. The weeks passed and they didn't find any dead guys' hands and Fraser and Ray were both out of vacation time. Intermission was over. Back to the real world.

They traveled back to Fraser's cabin and Ray didn't say anything, and Ray bought his ticket home and still didn't say anything, and Fraser drove Ray to the airport and he _still_ didn't say anything, and then Ray was slinging his duffel onto his shoulder and giving Fraser an awkward handshake and walking across the tarmac to the small, bush plane, and Ray didn't say _one fucking word_.

Ray stared out the window the entire time until the plane arrived in Yellowknife for the connecting flight.

There were two hours to spare, so Ray bought a pack of cigarettes and walked around the tiny airport until he spotted a payphone booth.

Fraser would be at his post in Inuvik now. Ray slid the cigarettes into his coat pocket and stared at the phone.

He had the number memorized—and even if he didn't, there was a small piece of paper in his bag, worn with repeated creases and folds, that did.

He reached out slowly and picked the phone up off the receiver, sliding some change into the slot, the weight of the coins unfamiliar in his hand, and dialed the number.

Ray's right hand tapped restlessly on the payphone base as the phone rang, and his heart was beating in time to his taps— _thaTHUMP thaTHUMP thaTHUMP_ —god, what was he doing, he couldn't do this, he couldn't do this, and he started to hang up the phone, but—

"Hello, this is the Inuvik RCMP detachment, Corporal Benton Fraser speaking."

"Hi, I, uh...hey, Fraser."

"Ray?" Fraser sounded surprised and happy and hopeful. "How was your flight?"

"It was okay. How are, uh...how are things over there?"

"It's—well, it's very quiet. Diefenbaker has already expressed his displeasure over your departure, although, naturally, I suspect that his sentiments are motivated more by his appetite than is perhaps entirely appropriate."

Ray smiled a little at that. "Naturally."

"Ray, I..." Fraser's voice drifted off, then picked again, sounding hesitant. "I confess that—well, it's only been a few hours, but I admit things have been much less exciting since your leaving and Inuvik is hardly the hotbed of criminal activity—not that that's a terrible thing, I certainly don't wish for miscreants to descend on Inuvik—but, well, I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I've gotten used to our adventuring together, and I'm finding that I'm having a difficult time—adjusting."

Translation: Fraser missed him. Ray froze. _Fraser missed him_. Fraser missed _him_. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest ( _thaTHUMP thaTHUMP thaTHUMP_ ), and oh fuck—

"Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

Ray swallowed, once, twice, and then licked his dry lips nervously. "Ask me to stay."

"I—pardon?"

"Ask me to stay," Ray said again, softer this time. "Ask me to stay—with you. In Canada. Inuvik. Wherever."

The silence stretched and Ray couldn't hear anything except for his pounding heart, and then it was too long, he'd fucked up, Fraser was going to—

"Ray, stay here with me."

Ray sucked in a huge breath, because yeah, breathing, generally good thing to do. And he was a little dizzy, maybe on the verge of passing out, but god, he didn't give two flying fucks, because _Fraser had just basically proposed to him_ , right there, and jesus, he was going to explode if this feeling, this my-whole- _life_ -has-just-been-made feeling didn't go somewhere—

Except, no, that wasn't happening, he was still standing there staring stupidly at the beat up black phone with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. Someone coughed politely behind him and he flinched and whirled around.

"Sorry, I...you know," Ray mumbled as he waved his hand vaguely. "Forgot the number," he finished lamely. The guy nodded, like, _Yeah, yeah whatever, pal, are you done yet?_ Except polite, 'cause this was Canada. Christ. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Get a hold of yourself, Kowalski. Get a _goddamn hold of yourself_.

Ray walked ( _ran away_ , a voice sneered in his head) towards the giant windows that all airports seemed to have. It was snowing, just a little. Big, white, fluffy flakes that floated slowly down, glimmering, and Ray looked up and felt like he was in one of those snow globes after it'd been shaken, and now everything was just falling crazy-like, and he couldn't do anything 'till it'd settled down enough to pick up the pieces.

Was it snowing in Inuvik? What was Fraser up to? Was Fraser thinking about—him? He could find out, he could go back to the payphone and actually call Fraser this time, but instead he was just standing there like an idiot. He unclenched his fist and realized that he'd completely crushed the cigarettes.

Ray was a coward. A goddamn coward. Always had been, always would be. He stood there until it was time to get on his flight.


End file.
